Water Speaks

I don’t know what I am
moving this way. I can’t
see myself. I know
myself by what contains

me. Shifting shores, stones
whose colors I have
no names for. If you
are not holding on

to anything, I can take
you with me. I know
myself this way, too,
by the shape I make

around you, woman
wishing you were more
like me, a bit more
free. This freedom is

too big for you. You
tremble to lose
your name, to spread
and sink so deep,

unseen, to lift
and blur so wide
you want to name yourself
a cloud, write vague

poems about rain
and floods, and living
mud. No, I’m sure
as rain and mud my way

is not for you.  Accept
this human shape
of me, the only way
I know to speak.

2012

One Response to “Water Speaks”

  1. Uche Ogbuji says:

    Ooh! Blessings from the Roaring Fork. Water speaks in this poem, as does humanity. I was tickled by the pun in

    you want to name yourself
    a cloud, write vague

    poems about rain
    and floods, and living
    mud.

    Where “vague”, which is French for “wave” and originally meant “wandering” in English, plays with the water and air concepts.

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